


Past the Threshold

by feralbasilthief



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Blood and Injury, Finnish Mythology & Folklore, M/M, Moomin is oblivious, Pining, Possession, Snusmumriken | Snufkin Has Paws, Violence, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21700888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralbasilthief/pseuds/feralbasilthief
Summary: He’s pretty sure he’s heard stories of things like this on his travels. Body snatchers and evil spirits. But never had anything come of them. He had been pretty sure they were all just children’s tales.That was, until now.-In which, Moomin, Snufkin, and Sniff set out on an adventure that seems to follow them home. Something is waiting in the shadows.
Relationships: Mumintrollet | Moomintroll/Snusmumriken | Snufkin
Comments: 26
Kudos: 91





	1. The Windflowers

Everything feels heavy as if his whole body is being weighed down by bricks. Even taking a breath is difficult and not because of the dust clouding the old house. It feels like his chest is being crushed. 

It takes a moment, but Snufkin manages to pry open his eyelids and if he had any air in his lungs to start with, it would have left in a rush. A familiar face is staring right back at him.

~~~

The Spring began soft and kind this year. The river swelled with the melting snow and the fish were plentiful. It made good the promise of a Spring Tune on the first day Moomintroll woke up from hibernation. After a small bit of catching up, he and Snufkin had so easily slipped back into their roles as best friends.

Adventure was a big part of their friendship and adventure they did. Right from the very start, they came up with different tasks to do for each day, sometimes with the company of others and sometimes without anyone but the pair. Either way content. They had already visited the beach, went mushroom picking, and helped a lost little starling find it’s parents and barely a week had passed in Moominvalley. 

_ Now’s the first time we’ve even sat down _ , Moomin thought to himself, sipping tea on the veranda as Snufkin leaned over the railing. 

Moomin smiled into his cup as his eyes flicked over to his best friend. He admired his warm features; Snufkin’s caramel eyes spoke the words the traveller refused to say aloud. His heart fluttered in his chest, everything felt so very right. He longed to stay in this moment forever. 

Moominpappa was telling his stories again with grandiose gestures, wholly enjoying his little audience. 

“-and that’s when I saw a beautiful fairy circle, right there in front of me!” he said in an impressive manner, as he was wont to do. 

Sniff, who was sitting on the ground, twitched his nose. He looked like he wanted to say something but kept silent. 

“But how did a fairy circle grow in the sand?” Snufkin, however, was less restrained with his thoughts. Moominpappa paid him no mind, though. 

“Don’t interrupt me now, Snufkin. Now, as I was saying, I saw the fairy circle. I’ve never been much of a superstitious chap but I did mind the mushrooms. It was a bad omen for sure because soon after I found a haunted house.”

“Haunted!” Sniff squeaked. He pulled his ears down around his face as if they could protect him. 

Moominpappa nodded, looking very grave indeed. 

“Yes, right up to the East before you get to the Lonely Mountains. I’d say an hour and a half’s walk from here, in fact. It had such an aura to it that-” 

Sniff whimpered but Moomin had already tuned his Pappa out. His eyes sparkled with excitement and they met Snufkin’s. The Mumrik’s own eyes were widened with glee, his hazelnut irises glistened with a sense of adventure. Before even moving, they had made a silent agreement and Moomin adored how his friend seemed to read his mind.

In a moment, while Pappa wasn’t looking, they managed to slink away. Moomin yanked Sniff’s tail and the latter yelped indignantly before scampering to follow along. Moominpappa had his eyes on his book, thoroughly entrenched in his own writings. He probably wouldn’t even notice they were gone until he paused for a dramatic flair and received silence instead of cheers. 

The trio made their way to the side of the house, giggling among themselves when they heard Moominpappa’s startled sputters and annoyed cries.

Once far enough away to avoid being found out, Moomin couldn’t contain his excitement any longer and exclaimed, “We must find that house!”

Snufkin nodded sagely, but Sniff just cocked his head in confusion.

“What house?” he asked. 

“The house in Pappa’s story, of course!”

Before the words even finished leaving Moomin’s mouth, Sniff began whining, “Oh no! No...no, no no! We are not going to a haunted house!”

He crossed his arms and stood firmly still, looking as if he would not be budged. His tail quivered behind him, a betrayal of his anxiety.

But Moomin had expected as much and was ready to play his favourite card to get Sniff to go along with them. 

“Well, alright, I guess you can stay here, by yourself,” he declared, smiling cheekily, “Come on Snuff, if Sniff’s too much of a coward, we’ll just have to find the house on our own. Perhaps we might find some  _ treasure _ .”

Moomin grabbed Snufkin’s paw to pull him along. How clever he was. 

“Yeah, well, maybe I will stay here!” Sniff proclaimed. 

Moomin just kept walking, trailing Snufkin after him. After a second of silence, Sniff couldn’t stand it any longer. He grumbled nervously and started running after the other two.

“Hey, wait up! If you two get in danger, you’ll need someone to save you!”

Soon, Sniff caught up panting and glaring daggers as Moomin and Snufkin chuckled at their friend’s distress.

Maybe if it was a different expedition, Moomin would have been disappointed to have Sniff tag along with them, who would be stealing away at his precious time alone with Snufkin. But this time, he felt an extra pair of paws were a welcome comfort.

As they entered the forest, Snufkin began to hum something akin to an old sea shanty. 

~~~

They had been walking for about half an hour before Sniff started up his whining again. Moomintroll tried so hard to not be short with him. He  _ was _ the reason Sniff was tagging along after all. He ran a hand down his face, annoyance growing as it always seemed to do with the small creature. 

“We’ll never find this place! I doubt it even exists!” he moaned. 

He truly looked pathetic, tail dragging on the ground and ears drooping back. How could one be so dreadfully impatient?

Moomin couldn’t say he was the most patient creature in the world either but even he could manage less than an hour. Besides, they had each other’s company and Snufkin’s music to keep them occupied.

Moomin felt his tongue turn sharp in his mouth and would have retorted back had Snufkin not took the words away from him with his own shout.

“Look!” He gasped, pointing up ahead. 

Sniff and Moomin turned their heads from each other to look at what he was gesturing towards and, sure enough, the forest dwindled into a little clearing with a boulder that looked much too large for the space around it. From the angle they were seeing it from, it looked like a large owl with big, wise eyes. 

Moomin then recalled his Pappa’s story. 

_ “...I found a big stone, quite magnificent! The thing was in the shape of a great bird!...” _

This was the one from the tale. Not quite as splendid as Moominpappa had made it out to be, but it was at least one and a half Moomintrolls tall, so definitely large. Moomin rarely felt disappointed anymore when his father’s stories didn’t match his mind’s eye. That was the job of a storyteller after all. 

“I say we rest here,” Snufkin said, breaking him from his thoughts. The Mumrik made a pointed look towards Sniff, who was dragging his feet as if they were about to fall off. 

“About time!” The creature retorted.

Snufkin hummed in a blithe response. He was already making way to sit under the shade of the rock. 

Moomin plonked down next to him, getting comfy on the cool earth. It felt nice against his fur, which was beginning to get hot from the trek.

Sniff, however, chose to try and climb the boulder, quickly forgetting his exhaustion. He clambered up, using the owl’s stony eye sockets as leverage. His toehold slipped a couple of times and each time it sent his foot into Snufkin’s head. Sniff yelled out apologies each time but continued on with his climb. 

By the time he had gotten to the top, the poor Mumrik’s hat was pushed very askew and his head felt poorly. He took his signature green hat off and hissed as he rubbed at the spot Sniff had kicked. 

Moomin threw an apologetic glance his way. The troll looked back down beside him, where some small wildflowers grew. 

“These would look great on your hat,” he said mostly to himself but Snufkin still heard.

“Oh?” he smiled back, leaning forward to take a look at them.

Moomin picked some from the dirt and held them against the discarded hat. He narrowed his eyes as if he was some sort of fancy art critic.

“Yes, I think so. The lavender colour looks quite lovely, don’t you agree?”

Snufkin leaned back against the rock, letting his eyelids fall into a lazy gaze.

“Mmhm, very nice. Asters.”

Moomin looked at him curiously.

“Come again?”

“Asters,” Snufkin repeated, “the flowers. I believe they symbolize patience.” 

Moomin snorted, “Then we’ll need a whole boatload of them!”

The two peered up the rock, where Sniff was now scouting the surrounding area. Once again, Moomin thought it wonderful how Snufkin seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.

A smile played on Snufkin’s lips.

“Yes, I suppose so,” he tittered.

Moomin began stringing together the asters, fully intending to put them on the hat when he finished. Snufkin always looked so swell when he had a wreath of flowers round his hat. Snufkin let his eyes close and breathed in the warm spring air. He could smell a hint of the flowers wafting on the breeze. 

“Oh, Snufkin look at these!” He peered opened his eyes to flowers being waved in his face and, once blinked into focus, he jolted up as if he had been punched in the gut. The air suddenly went stagnant in the back of his throat. He sputtered.

Moomin retracted his hand as if burnt, clearly frightened. 

“What’s the matter?” he blurted, unable to contain his concern.

The Mumrik eased himself with a couple breaths, but his voice still came out strained, “Windflowers. They- they mean… anticipation.” 

Moomin could see the doubt in Snufkin’s eyes but decided not to comment on it. He likely wouldn’t have told him if he had pressed anyways. Moomin looked down at the little white flowers and placed them onto the dirt beside him. He didn’t feel like making flower crowns anymore. The apprehension stuck like a lump of peanut butter in his mouth and he swallowed a few times to try and make it go down. It looked if Snufkin was ready to move on as well. 

The wanderer had become visibly uncomfortable, shifting from side to side. All of a sudden, the owl’s hollow eyes bore into his skin. Snufkin itched under its gaze. He quickly stood and called up to Sniff.

“We best get going, come on!” 

They waited as patiently as they could while Sniff flopped onto the ground with the grace of a fish out of water. Snufkin picked his hat off of the ground and distractedly placed it on his head. He jumped when Moomin reached over to pull off a leaf that was clinging to the brim. 

Sniff recovered from his fall and Moomin felt relieved to be on their way again. He didn’t care for the way Snufkin’s face went so cold and vacant.  _ It doesn’t suit him _ , he thought. 

“Let’s keep going East,” Moomin said, breaking the silence.

As they left the little clearing behind them Snufkin stole one last glance back down at the windflowers.

~~~

The tension from back at the clearing stood, stifling any conversation. Even Sniff, as unobservant as he was, caught on that something wasn’t right. 

Snufkin couldn’t hold his tongue any longer. He couldn’t stand knowing that the others were staring at him expectantly. 

“Be on the lookout for-”

“Apples!” Moomin cut him off, running up to a tree that did indeed have small green apples on it.

“Mushrooms,” Snufkin corrected. Moomin paid him no mind, distracted by trying to reach the fruit. He huffed as he stretched his arm as far as it could go. It didn’t even near the apples. Sniff came up the back and looked up the tree.

“I could climb on your shoulders,” Sniff said to Moomin. 

The latter wrinkled his nose at the idea. He didn’t fancy the chance of getting kicked in the head.

“Or-” Snufkin said, putting his foot on the trunk of the tree, “we could do  _ this _ !”

With a grunt, he pushed on the tree. It quivered and apples rained down, thudding on the soft earth. 

“Oh, Snufkin, you are so clever!” Moomintroll said in admiration. He knelt down and grabbed an apple from where it had fallen. 

“Awful small though,” he frowned. But before he knew it, Snufkin swiped the thing from his palm.

“Ey!” he shouted, more surprised than offended. 

Not even pausing, Snufkin bit into the thing with a crunch. He chewed for only a moment before his face contorted and puckered. He flushed and spit the thing out, tossing the remainder on the ground. He wiped his paws over his tongue.

“Crabapples- bitter,” he explained, flustered.

With that, the tension was broken. Moomin started with a chuckle and then Sniff joined in much louder, clearly finding the situation much too funny. And soon, Snufkin couldn’t help falling in with their laughter. It started out soft, like a tinkling bell, but grew throaty and genuine. He fell open, head tilting back to show his tiny fangs.

The laughter lingered, a reprieve from the earlier taut atmosphere, before dissolving completely. In its wake was warm comfort. 

Moomin padded over to Snufkin, grabbing his paw.

“Let’s go,” he grinned most resolutely.

~~~

As they trod along, the forest became more crowded and dark. The trees grew closer together, blocking out the midday sun. Underbrush grew over what was once a footpath and tangled with the trios legs, grabbing and nipping at their fur and clothes. 

Sniff resumed his snivelling but Moomin couldn’t help but to find comfort in his friend’s relentless muttering. Shadows ebbed out and flowed back in like the tide. Moomin and Snufkin exchanged pleasant conversation, discussing various folktales of the forest, trying to keep a light atmosphere around them. Green surrounded them, even the trees covered themselves in mossy cloaks. Moomintroll still held tightly onto Snufkin’s paw, fretting that if he were to let go he might just lose him to the forest. 

Despite being cooler under the shade, Moomin was grateful that they were shielded from the wind. He could hear the leaves above rustling. It must’ve picked up. 

He looked up towards the sky and that’s when something caught his eye. A little mushroom clung to the trunk of a nearby tree. Moomin knew enough about picking mushrooms to know this was an Ivory Funnel. Highly toxic but very pretty none-the-less. He regarded it with fondness and wondered how it managed to climb itself up so high. Ivory Funnels usually grew lower to the ground. 

“Look, it’s a mushroom!” he shouted and then softer he realized, “We must be close to the fairy circle now…” 

He reached up and poked the little white cap. It was soft and sprung back in his fingers.

Suddenly, a low, rumbling growl filled the space and Moomin whipped around. Sniff was staring at the ground, sheepish. 

“What? I’m hungry!” he said. 

Moomin let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding in.

“Well, you can’t eat these. You’d get ill.” 

“I wasn’t going to eat them. They just reminded me how hungry I am,” Sniff retorted, nose up in offence.

Now that the subject of food was brought up, Moomin’s stomach gurgled to protest that it, too, was ready for lunch. The sound of roasted mushrooms did sound like a treat. 

“Alright, how about we stop to look for a bite?” he turned to Snufkin for approval. 

The Mumrik nodded, “how about we split up and look for provisions?”

Before he even realized why, Moomin was shaking his head ‘no’ wildly at the suggestion. 

“Not safe,” he said rather fiercely, “we’d never find each other again!” 

He reckoned that Snufkin would protest. He wasn’t one to need finding and he certainly would be suited to collect them should they get lost. Yet Snufkin stayed quiet. Moomin wasn’t sure if it relieved him or made him more nervous. 

After a half beat, Snufkin walked forward. 

“Come on then,” he motioned with his head for them to follow. 

Moomin sighed, tense shoulders falling to his sides. Sniff scampered to the front and he took up the behind. They slowed down decidedly so to aid in their search and it gave Moomin time to regard Snufkin in between scanning for edible plants. 

His hair bounced with each step of his clunky boots.  _ For such a hardy creature _ , Moomin thought,  _ he is certainly very soft looking _ . He was weather-worn and Moomintroll bet he smelled of wildflowers and earth and the rain and the sea and everything else in between. He hadn’t even realized Snufkin had stopped in his tracks until he ran right into his back. 

Snufkin staggered forward with collision, turning around somewhat startled. 

“Oh dear, are you alright?” he asked Moomin, concern lacing his voice. 

_ He should be the one asking that, _ Moomin thought. He blinked, shaking his head to clear it.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. No worries, just got distracted by…” he trailed off, searching for an excuse because telling one’s friend _ ‘I was thinking of how you might smell’ _ would surely be rather awkward. Luckily, one happened to appear right in front of his eyes. He silently thanked the natural forces for such perfect timing. 

“By those,” he said, pointing. Snufkin’s eyes followed the line of his arm to a few small patches of chanterelle mushrooms. The yellow trumpets would make a fine little meal. 

After gathering Sniff, who had wandered a bit ahead, they carefully picked as many mushrooms as could fit in their paws and in Snufkin’s smock. Once satisfied, they reconvened. 

“If you collect some sticks,” Snufkin told the others, “I can start a fire and we can cook them.”

Sniff and Moomin did as instructed and soon had enough twigs to get a small roast going. Snufkin lit up a match and warmth filled the air as he lit the pile. 

The fire blazed strong and clean. Very quickly, they were able to cook their fare on their stick skewers, finding comfy spots around the fire. It served to fill their bellies and was quite a treat, as chanterelle mushroom often were. Moomin thought it was a shame they couldn’t bring some home. They would have been magnificent in Moominmamma’s soup.

The fire dwindled and Sniff went off on his own accord to fetch some more kindle. Once again, it was just Moomin and Snufkin.

“So-” Snufkin started but Moomin was quick to cut him off. He wanted control of the conversation.

“Snuff, what-” he paused to think, “should we go back?” 

It wasn’t what he wanted to ask but maybe it could give him some insight. Snufkin gave him a curious look in return. He opened his mouth as if to answer but was shortly interrupted by Sniff’s high-pitched shouting.

“The- the- it’s the! Thingy!” He was panting and spoke in staccato bursts, quite unintelligibly. 

Sniff madly motioned in a vague direction before his tongue figured out what he was meant to say.

“The fairy circle!” he finally managed to spit out. Quite literally, as Moomin wiped a bit of the slobber from his nose. 

“Really?” Moomin exclaimed, jumping up, “Well, show us!” 

He looked back over to Snufkin, who appeared apprehensive. Moomin grabbed the Mumrik’s paw in his and pulled him up to follow. They weaved in and out of trees quickly to keep up with Sniff. Moomin nearly would have trod on it if Snufkin hadn’t grabbed his tail to stop him. He fell forward with an  _ oof! _ nearly nose to mushroom. 

Ivory Funnels spread out in a circle in front of him. It was the fairy circle from his Pappa’s story. Excitement quickly evaporated and an icy realization spread over Moomin’s skin. His fur prickled on the back of his neck. They were close to the haunted house now. 

Sniff looked rather proud of himself and Moomin thought he must have forgotten why they were out here in the first place. 

“We should keep on,” Snufkin said from behind him. 

Sniff frowned at this.

“Keep on for what? We just found the thing!” he said. 

Then added in, “No thanks to me.” 

Snufkin simply paid him no mind and turned to Moomin who shrugged unsurely. He didn’t like how Snufkin’s eyes seemed so pleading. So, for all their sake and not without the protests of Sniff, Moomin took up the lead and the little party continued on. 

~~~

The trees began to thin upon leaving the mushroom circle and the ones that were left were knotted and gnarled as if the wind itself had tied knots in their trunks. They could see the sky now, which swirled into a murky grey. It had turned chilly and Moomin was oddly reassured that they wouldn’t be caught out by rain since there was no humidity in the air.

Without any warning, a house appeared between the trees. It was sharp and looming and held a presence as if the very thing was alive. Even though they hadn’t been talking, a sudden hush fell over the group. It was as if they had all forgotten to breathe and no one dared to try first. Only the wind, whipping violently on the treetops, was brazen enough to make a sound. 

The house itself was tall, but not nearly so as Moominhouse. It probably was two floors, three at most. The wood panelling that covered the thing was greying and falling off with age. It was in a horrible state, dilapidated, a safety hazard of a structure.

Sniff was the first to speak, gulping down nerves.

“Alright, we found the thing. Now, how about we go on home? It’s getting rather late and…” he trailed off.

Snufkin approached the house, slowly and surely as if in a trance. 

“Snufkin!” Moomin called after him, but he didn’t respond. The Mumrik was staring at the trees in front of the house. Or what used to be trees at least. They had been burnt down to stumps. Moomin watched Snufkin reach down to touch the charred remains. His fingers came back black, as if someone had set them on fire recently. 

Moomin looked to Snufkin for answers but his face mirrored his own confusion.

“Poor things. Why would someone do this?” Snufkin said.

It was a rhetorical question but Moomin wished he knew. He wanted to ease the ache he could see in Snufkin’s eyes. 

He wasn’t even sure he wanted to be here anymore. He wanted to go home and forget the whole thing. Maybe end the day with some fishing or listen to Snufkin play on his mouth organ. Yet they had come all this way. Might as well go explore and get it over with. At the least, they could say they’ve done it. 

Moomin decided with resoluteness, they must go in. If only for a moment. 

With fierce determination, he shoved at the door. It shuddered under his weight and burst open with a crack. The house creaked as if upset that it was woken from a deep slumber. 

Moomin coughed, choking on the dust that rose from the floor. He felt the others gather in on each side of him, or rather Snufkin beside him and Sniff cowering behind him. 

The inside had fared much better than the exterior had. It was pristine aside from the thick layer of dust that dulled the surfaces from what they could see of the foyer. 

He took the first terrified step inside. And then another. And another. Soon, he had made his way to the middle of the room and found he could not hold back a laugh any longer. 

“It’s just a house!” Moomin chuckled, “It’s just a mucky, old house!”

How silly of them to be so anxious about it. Laughter poured out of him like boil water out of a pot. The magic of his Pappa’s tales had faded away and he was left walking around a poor dusty and rather neglected dwelling. For once, he favoured it this way. There were no unknown creeps lurking in the shadows, waiting to get them. 

“Let’s look around!” he chirped.

He was already bounding up the stairs. 

~~~

Snufkin is relieved to see Moomin so happy. It makes him feel safe. And why shouldn’t he be? He’s explored thousands of places and this one is no different. He’ll take a peak, learn a bit more, and leave a bit wiser and none the worse for wear. 

Yet something tugs on him like a catch in his heart. It’s probably the coming weather, he decides upon. 

He travels a bit further into the house, hearing Sniff’s chattering soften as he moves from the room. 

The whole house goes back in a straight line. From the foyer, he can see the sitting room and the part of the dining area that isn’t obscured by a wall. A large oak door leads to what Snufkin assumes would be the kitchen. To his left is the stairs that Moomin had just gone up. 

Entering the sitting room, he realizes it’s much the same as the foyer. Everything is picture-perfect in place. There is even a faded coffee table book, placed ever so delicately. He will never understand the idea of that. Why have a book without meaning to read it? 

He wonders if the previous owners were Fillyjonks. It would be like them to carry this sort of order to their house. Sadly, only pictures of flowers hang on the wall, no portraits to divulge any of the house’s past.

As he passes the chaise lounge, he runs a claw along the velvety surface. It catches dust and he shakes his finger to release the bunny to the floor.  _ It might as well join its friends _ , he thinks mildly.

He stops when he gets to the dining room. What had been obscured before now reveals itself to be a long table. But what makes him pause is what’s on it. Dinnerware has been set on the table. Gold edged plates and silver forks and champagne flutes. Three places neatly made up. All left as if someone had to go away in a hurry. 

The only other thing in the room is a small oval mirror hung behind the end of the table opposite him. He avoids looking into it, not keen at seeing his own reflection, especially in something so clear. 

Snufkin realizes with surprise that the house has gone very cold. So chilly he can see his breath come out in tiny clouds in front of him. He wraps his arms around himself in an effort to get warm again. He hadn’t even noticed before, too focused on the dining table. It draws him near, like an invisible wire tugging on him.

He goes in for a better look at the plates and thinks that the gilded edges are very pretty indeed. The plates are shiny and beautiful, in fact. Not to his taste but-

Then, a cold realization hits him like a punch. His stomach freezes over and he feels like he’ll be ill all over the floor. He realizes what is so odd about the setting. The tableware isn’t dusty. Someone put it there  _ recently _ . 

Very suddenly the world starts spinning around faster than he can keep up with. He vaguely wonders if he can hear a clock chiming or if his head is just ringing that loudly. His vision wanes and the world quickly comes up to meet his face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Thanks for reading! I honestly mulled over posting this all afternoon since I haven't finished Chapter 2 and don't know if I'll get it done this week because, yay, finals, but I just tidied it up so why not.
> 
> Note: 'Windflowers' or anemones symbolize anticipation but also fading hope. 
> 
> I've been getting ads for 'mushroom grow kits' now for the sake of accuracy in this fic.


	2. The Piru

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, this fic isn't dead. I could not for the life of me focus on editing this and my writing style has been changing so much that I'm not sure how this came out. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Translations are in the end notes.

Snufkin awakes slowly and at first, he can’t remember what had happened or where he is. His head pounds and he feels heavy like lead. It’s hard for him to summon the energy to even open his eyes, but the world is just so cold and his chest aches enough that he must do something. 

He takes a moment to adjust his bleary gaze and chokes on his tongue when he does. 

Standing there, looking at him with wide unblinking eyes, is  _ himself _ . Clear as day, it smiles at him with his own face. Snufkin dizzily wonders just how hard he must have hit his head. 

He knows at once it’s not a reflection by the way it grins at him. He didn’t think himself capable of looking so manic. It’s rather unnerving and he feels relieved when it turns away, staring at something he can’t see.

“I’m in the  _ Elävä Maailma _ .” 

It speaks in his voice and Snufkin feels his stomach roll. It looks back at him again, eyes narrowing in malice and smile so wide it nearly splits his face in half. 

“And _ you’re _ in the  _ Kiellettypaikka _ .”

It ends in a drawn out hiss. Snufkin’s blood freezes in his veins and what hope he held that this was just a bizarre dream drains from him at once. It’s all too real, he could possibly be imagining this.

He’s pretty sure he’s heard stories of things like this on his travels if he can recall correctly. Body snatchers and evil spirits. But never had anything come of them. He had been pretty sure they were all just children’s tales to keep little ones out of mischief.

“Who  _ are _ you?” he spits, surprising himself, for he had been frozen just moments ago.

_ It _ looks just as startled. The thing blinks at him and draws closer. 

“Inconsequential,” it says blandly.

_ But it isn’t!  _ Snufkin thinks. It matters very much to him in this present state of his. Yet he doesn’t manage to voice any of this as the thing sneers at him and slips out of the room like a serpent. 

He is just glad that the air seems to clear the second it leaves the room.

It suddenly is as if a great weight has been lifted off him and he takes advantage of that with few deep gulping breaths. His head spins with relief and he feels as if he is floating. In fact, as he reaches down, he can’t feel the floor at all. He lolls his head to the side to see why and, startled, realizes he actually is floating. His body is levitating upwards towards the ceiling and  _ oh no, this is very strange and frightening _ . Panic bubbles up in his throat and his heart beats rabbit fast in his chest, as his arms and legs shoot out to try for purchase on something, anything. Snufkin barely has time to wonder how he is to get down, when he is suddenly falling back towards the floor. He falls feet first as if his feet were weighed down by anchors. 

Snufkin braces for the impact but he keeps on going down as if the floor was made of water. It’s a very strange sensation, rippling and fuzzy, and he reaches out his claws to grab onto the floorboards before he falls straight into what he assumes would be the house’s basement. Desperate and wild, he’s able to latch on to the soft wood. The lower half of his body dangles and he struggles to pull himself back up. When he finally does, he collapses into a heap on the floor, happy to be on a solid surface. After a scare like that, he could almost kiss the dusty ground for supporting him.

He lies there, weak and in a horrible state of dread. It’s only that he can hear talking in the other room that rouses him enough to try getting up. He needs to warn the others of- of whatever this is that the creature has done. He falters. How can he tell them about what he doesn’t know himself? 

But just as quickly as he thinks it, he puts it out, filling with a fierce determination. It stings him like a cattle prod, electrifying him and setting him in motion. This time when he stands, he finds he is able to keep a foothold on the ground. 

The dining room is closed off now by a pocket door that Snufkin hadn’t noticed before. He reaches for the handle to pull it open but instead, his hand goes right through the thing. Pulling back, he regards his paw like it is some foreign object. 

His heart jumps up to his throat when he realizes it is see-through, semi-transparent. All this is just too much and he is all mixed up, somewhere between fear for himself and fear for his friends. Again, he pushes down the panic and since he can’t open the door with his hand, he quickly makes a decision. He closes his eyes, screwing them up as tight as he can, and walks forward. When he is satisfied that he has surely passed the door or else he’d have run into it, he peaks them open. 

It worked, he was past the threshold of the dining room and out into the sitting room again. He tries to feel glad. He’s back in control of himself and he should be happy about that. Instead, he wishes he had listened to the flowers and the trees. He should have trusted them. He should have realized that the burned down Elder stumps were a warning. Should have. Should have but didn’t. 

Snufkin grits his teeth because how miserable a thing ‘should have’ is. Regret is so confining and now he finds himself wallowing in it. 

_ Oh dear _ , he thinks and rubs at his face to scrub the feeling from his cheeks.

A yelp tears him from his thoughts. 

It’s Sniff for sure and what if that  _ creature _ has done something awful? He scrambles to the foyer and finds Sniff and the body snatcher below the stairs. 

He releases the tension immediately and is not sure whether to be relieved or irritated when he finds that Sniff is perfectly fine. A large spider hangs from the ceiling in front of them, black and full of legs. 

Snufkin thinks it rather handsome if anything at all, nothing to be worked up over. Definitely nothing to get into the tizzy Sniff has clearly worked himself into. 

The creature in his body seems to have a differing opinion. It stares at the spider with hungry eyes, Snufkin doesn’t like where this is going. 

It plucks the spider from its line of silk and poor arachnid squirms uselessly in its grasp. Then, with a self-satisfied smirk none-the-less, it places it on its tongue- his tongue. It makes a crunching sound as he bites down on it. 

Snufkin blanches at the sight. He’s no stranger surely to eating what he could scavenge but even he didn’t like the idea of eating a live spider. It only furthered his dismay to see himself eating it, spindly legs twitching from his mouth. 

Sniff looks mortified and Snufkin hopes he might realize something is obviously wrong. 

“You- you just-” Sniff squeaks out, white as a ghost. 

Snufkin could almost feel pity for him.

“You Mumrik lot are very strange.”

Almost. 

Snufkin doesn’t give the time to think anything else because his attention catches on Moomin, who is clambering down the stairs. Snufkin runs around Sniff and the body snatcher and reaches out for his friend, his Moomintroll. And maybe it is a moot point. Sniff would have noticed two Snufkins; he isn’t that dense. But Snufkin needs to know all the same. 

His heart only sinks deeper when Moomin walks straight through him as if he were nothing. Still, he hangs onto threads of hope like they are a lifeline. He breathes in deep and with a strength of voice he didn’t know he had, he yells.

“Moomin! Moomin, it’s me! Snufkin! Please! Can’t you hear me! Please!” 

He hollers and hollers until his voice runs dry and scratchy but, of course, Moomin can’t. 

Snufkin is usually so happy-go-lucky but now it feels there’s nothing to be happy or lucky about at all. Moomin walks alongside that imposter and that in itself is a vice on him, gripping him so tightly he finds it hard to breathe. 

Then, Moomin takes the creatures paw in his own, pulling it out of the house and talking about getting home in time for supper. 

Hot emotion rises to his cheeks. He doesn’t try to stop it; no one can see him so what’s the point? 

The creature watches him carefully with narrowed eyes as they leave the house, waiting to see something. Snufkin realizes what exactly when it stops at the main entrance. It is hesitant to pass through the threshold and therefore must be wondering if he will be able to as well. 

It makes sense to him and how terribly he feels for it. That’s the catch. That’s why it wants to be in his body. 

He can’t help but feel a bit of sorrow for the creature. He imagines it must be horribly awful to be stuck in a stuffy house like this one. Groke knows he wouldn’t be able to stand it. Then again, spirits don’t just get trapped for no reason or so he believes. 

At the least, nothing keeps him from leaving the lodging. For that, he is glad because if he is to get his body back, and he will, he needs to keep a close eye on it. 

~~~

The sky fades to soft red as the little party makes their way back home. Clouds dampen the light of the setting sun but there is still enough to see where they are going. 

The quiet around them stifles any hope of conversation. 

Moomin hadn’t noticed when Snufkin let go of his paw but now he finds himself longing for it again. He reaches back to grab hold but stops short when he sees that Snufkin is holding something in his paws. 

At first, Moomin isn’t sure what it is in the waning light but it soon becomes clear that the Mumrik is holding onto his tail. This takes him by surprise. Snufkin isn’t one to show his tail and Moomin himself has only seen it a rare few times. It looks like he’s fiddling with it, picking something from the tip. 

Moomin’s shock dissipates. 

“Something stuck in your tail, Snuf?” 

Snufkin doesn’t answer or even look up and he mentally scolds himself for sounding so interested. He hates how difficult it is to tell if Snufkin is upset until he’s said far too much. 

Instead, Snufkin digs his claws into the end of his tail again and Moomin jumps when he pulls a tuft of fur out. He reaches around to grab at his own tail, vicarious pain twitching through it. 

Eyes wide, he asks, “Oh my, doesn’t that hurt?” 

He can just barely see pinpricks of blood bubbling up from where the fur was pulled. Snufkin just gives him a smile and it’s so uncharacteristic of him Moomin shivers under it.

“No, I’m fine,” Snufkin states but his eye twitches and Moomin can’t help but think him a liar. He must’ve misstepped somewhere and made him cross. He hopes he hasn’t scared the Mumrik off.

Moomin forgets the conversation, seeing the forest opening up to his valley. His home. His tiredness catches up with him and he finds himself wanting his warm bed. 

The trio approaches Snufkin’s campsite and the awkwardness returns.

“Well, have a goodnight, Snufkin. Maybe we could go fishing in the morning?” he suggests, trying to ease the tension. Snufkin looks away and frowns at his tent. 

Moomin hopes he won’t wake up to an empty campsite. He would be so miserable, especially not knowing what he’s done wrong. He walks away, head hanging.

“Can I stay with you?” 

Moomin stops in his tracks. He shakes his head, thinking he must be hearing things but when he turns around Snufkin is staring at him expectantly. 

Caught off guard, he chokes out a “sure” and tries to hide the blush forming on his face.

Moomin watches Snufkin start towards the house.

“Don’t you want to grab your stuff?” he asks, “We’ll wait for you.”

Snufkin looks surprised but after a second of thought says, “Yes, I do. Don’t wait. I shall come to the house in a moment.” 

Moomin nods and pulls along a tired Sniff. He can’t believe he’ll be having a sleepover with Snufkin and the excitement bubbles in him like a boiling pot. He better get his room clean.

~~~

Snufkin watches Moomin bid Sniff farewell for the night and slip into Moominhouse.

“I didn’t think your  _ Itse _ would follow me around like a gnat,” the body snatcher says, inspecting his paws. He flexes his claws in and out and makes a great deal of looking anywhere but Snufkin.

“ _ Itse _ ?” the Mumrik repeats. 

Was that what he was? The  _ Itse _ was said to be the soul, the personality of a person, from what he’s heard. The creature must have pushed his own out to make room for itself. 

“He’s a cute thing,” the creature says as if Snufkin wasn’t there.

“W-who?” Snufkin stutters back, but he thinks he knows the answer. The creature turns to acknowledge him.

“The fuzzy white one,” then his eyes light up as if he’s discovered something great, “You like him, huh?”

The color drains from Snufkin’s visage. 

“Don’t worry, I will not hurt him.  _ Piru _ s can’t kill. It was just difficult to cause chaos in an empty house. Now, I have so much more to work with.” he says, now rifling through Snufkin’s pack.

Snufkin is taken aback by this for two reasons. First, he no longer feels any sympathy for the creature before him. A Piru was demonic, formed from wisps of death and misery. Nothing good could come from it.

Then, if that is not bad enough, this demon has an important piece of invaluable knowledge about him now. Was he really that obvious about it?

He breaks from his thoughts when the Piru coughs forcefully, stopping amid his search to take a few wheezing breaths. Deciding to keep on, it picks out his mouth organ and a box of matches. Shoving them in its smock, the Piru heads to Moominhouse.

Snufkin looks down at his paws, they aren’t as opaque as they were earlier. He follows close behind the demon, trying to deny the allegations against him, and realizes how desperately he needs to find out how to get back in his own body. 

~~~

Moomin perks up from the dinner table when Snufkin walks in. Mamma smiles generously and offers him a plate but the Mumrik declines kindly. Moomin is still trying to figure out if this is a dream or not when Snufkin grabs his wrist with sharp claws.

He yelps and withdraws quickly causing Snufkin to scratch him. 

“Sorry, Snuf, you startled me. Your claws are-” he flushes, embarrassed and unwilling to correct his friend. He settles instead for rubbing at the claw marks on his arm. 

Snufkin doesn’t seem to take notice.

“Let us head for your sleeping chamber,” he says and Moominmamma shoots him a strange look. 

Despite the strange phrasing, Moomin does just that, constantly checking behind him to make sure Snufkin is still following and this isn’t just him going crazy. It had been a long day for all of them. Maybe it is Snufkin who is unwell. He looks a bit off with his tail sticking out of his smock and his hat shifted lopsidedly on his head. What they both need is a good sleep, Moomin concludes. 

He leaves the door just a bit ajar and doesn’t pull the ladder up tonight, just in case Snufkin decides he’s had enough and wants to leave. Then, he plunks down in his bed and relishes the soft comfort of his mattress. He feels Snufkin climb in next to him and breathes in his scent. He smells of grass and dust, still lingering from the old house. It makes his nose itch but Moomin can’t say he minds because it’s all Snufkin and anything Snufkin is lovely. 

He turns over to talk to the Mumrik but Snufkin is faced away, already dozing peacefully. 

_ That was fast _ , he thinks. Then, he realizes Snufkin is still wearing his shoes and Moomin wrinkles his nose at the dirt getting on his bed. He deliberates for a moment if he should try to take them off. Snufkin is a light sleeper after all but he was out like a light now. He settles for unlacing and slipping off the boots, chucking them over the foot of the bed. He brushes off the excess dirt on his comforter and snuggles into his warm blankets. Slowly then all at once, he slips into his own slumber.

He dreams restlessly of searching through fields and fields of windflowers, looking for something he doesn’t yet know. 

~~~

The Piru stares through the night with Snufkin’s eyes, letting Moomin pull his shoes off.

“Don’t you need to sleep?” Snufkin asks it, knowing he can’t be heard by anyone but the Piru.

The demon blinks back, tight lipped and still holding that same wicked grin. 

“Mumriks do,” he adds, half-thinking he’s only talking to himself. The Piru holds a type of staring contest with him, not letting its guard down. 

“Well, goodnight,” he finishes, but they continue to hold each other's gaze. He hates being stuck like this but what choice does he have. 

The clock ticks softly from downstairs, insistent and irritating, and it sounds laughing to his ears. Each beat mocks him as the hours drag by and dark slowly melts into the soft blue grey of morning.

~~~

The day begins sunny and bright as it always seems to do in the Moominhouse. Little My has crawled out of the woodwork and feasts on jam biscuits, sitting with her little legs dangling off the counter. Mamma is preparing tea and Pappa is in his study preparing his manuscripts to be sent to his copy editor. 

The only thing off is-

“What’s wrong with you, pal?” My asks rudely, glaring daggers at Snufkin. 

Snufkin barely acknowledges her and Moomin bravely comes to his rescue.

“We’ve had a very long and very important adventure yesterday,” he says boldly. 

Little My only rolls her eyes. 

“Yes, I’m sure you have, dear,” Moominmamma sets two cups of tea on the table and gives him a kiss on the forehead. Moomin flushes at his mother’s affection.

“I wasn’t asking you anyways,” Little My grumbles in Moomin’s direction, then to Snufkin, “If you’ve gotten yourself sick, you better go back to your tent. I certainly don’t want your germs.”

Moomin acts in offence for his friend but My is right, Snufkin looks very bedraggled. 

Bags circle the Mumrik’s eyes and his hair hangs limply, honey rust color faded like murky pond water. His tail is still out, feebly twitching by his side. 

“Mamma’s tea will help you feel better,” Moomin offers him kindly. Snufkin opens his eyes wide and gives him an unsettling toothy grin in return. 

Without another second to spare, the Mumrik takes the tea cup and pours the entire thing, scalding hot, into his mouth. Moomin nearly falls out of his chair in shock as liquid spills from his friend’s mouth. 

“Snufkin!” he yells, as if it was any help. He rips the cup from the Mumrik’s hand and slides it across the table. Even Little My seems horrified, stock still and eyes wide from her position on the counter.

“Bloody hell!” Moomin swears and Mamma gives him a pointed look through her own concern. Now wasn’t the time for formalities anyways.

He shakes droplets of tea from his paws where they had been spilt. Snufkin looks raving mad, mouth still open and filled with tea. His pupils have shrunk down to mere slits. When he closes his mouth, more tea gushes from it, and it looks like he is trying to speak but Snufkin chokes instead. 

Moomin instinctively pats Snufkin’s back and the rest of his drink leaks out of the Mumrik’s mouth and onto the floor. Snufkin coughs and tears prick in his eyes. His face turns red from his hacking.

Moomin frets, a pang of guilt in his heart. His poor Snufkin must be very sick and loopy. How had he not noticed before? 

“Why don’t you take Snufkin to the bathroom and get him cleaned up?” Mamma suggests softly.

The worry in her voice does nothing to sooth the pinpricks of dismay traveling up his spine.

Mamma is always right though so he does. He pulls Snufkin up and leads him to the bathroom, rubbing soothing circles over his back all the while.

~~~

After the scene that just occurred, Snufkin is sure that, of anyone in the house, Moominmamma could help him. When Moomin leaves the kitchen with the Piru in tow, he figures now is as good a time as ever to try finding a way to ask. He can see she has her own suspicions about the imposter already and she talks to herself in a hushed manner, pulling rags from below the sink to clean up the mess of tea. How sorry he feels for such a disaster.

“Oh dear, oh, something not right here, I can sense it,” she mutters, shaking her head. 

Snufkin admires her intuition. People always refer to himself as wise but he pales in comparison to Moominmamma. She has all the best answers and the patience of a saint to boot. Yes, she would surely help him.

He focuses back to the task at hand, how to communicate. She can’t see him and can’t hear him. He looks around the room for something when one of Moominpappa’s pens catches his eye. That would do. Stationary is placed near it already and he is glad the Moomins are always so prepared. 

He grabs at the pen but it goes straight through his fingers.  _ Going to be tricksy then, _ he thinks stubbornly. He flexes his paws and wills himself to feel more solid. This time, the pen shifts before slipping through his fingers again. It’s progress and it catches Mamma’s attention. 

She whips around, catching the tail end of the pen’s movement. 

“Ninny?” she asks the air.

Snufkin feels frustration in his bones. He wishes it was as simple as being invisible. He wonders if Ninny, had he met her, would have felt this helpless. The buzz of aggravation is enough to let him grasp the pen again. It stays in his paw and he clenches his teeth, straining himself to keep it there. His fingers feel numb against the barrel and each letter he scratches takes so much out of him. 

S. N. U. F.

“Snufkin!” Moominmamma exclaims after the F. Snufkin lets the pen clatter back on the table, taking deep, gulping breaths. He wishes he could hug her. 

“Oh dear, I knew I had a bad feeling. What’s happened? Can you write it?” her concern is apparent on her face. He wants to explain it all, scrawl it all out as clear as day, but he barely was able to write out his name. He settles for what he can.

With shaking effort, he picks up the pen again. 

P.

His hand buzzes like it’s made of bees.

I.

It feels like flames are licking his finger tips.

R.

Tears leak out his eyes, he feels quite like he could explode.

U.

The pen drops again and the word sits there in all its gruesome glory. Snufkin retracts his burning hand, cradling it to himself. A wave of fear and sadness washes over him. He’s gone more transparent than before.

Mamma stares at the word for a long time, furrowing her brow in deep thought. 

Suddenly, she stands and walks away. Snufkin panics after her until he sees she’s grabbed her grandmother’s book. She begins to flick through the pages and lands on one she finds particularly interesting. Snufkin is relieved when she places it out on the table for him to see. 

The page shows sloppily scrawled images of demons and scribbles of text he has to squint to decipher. 

“ _ The Piru: _

_ Forest spirits. A troublemaking sort. Do not get involved with them. _ ”

It’s not very helpful to him, he realizes with a sinking feeling, but it gives Mamma an understanding of the situation. Even if Grandma’s book doesn’t have the answers he’s searching for, he feels less hopeless. Snufkin feels a bit of the weight he had been holding lift off his shoulders. He’s not alone now. Not completely.

Mamma gives the space around her a fretful look. Snufkin worries that she’s searching for a sign. He doesn’t think he has the energy to write anything else. 

“This is it, right?” she asks, finger tapping the word Piru, “Are you able to knock perhaps? One for yes and two for no.”

Snufkin thinks upon it, to which question he is answering. He summons the solidarity to rap against the table once. Yes, she is right, about the Piru that is. 

“I see,” she says. Snufkin thinks, for once, she looks her age. Usually, she carries an air of youth about her but in this moment she looks so motherly, Snufkin is surprised by it. Maybe because he isn’t usually the recipient of her doting, but he finds himself wanting to curl up by her and let her pet his hair to sooth him. She’s warm and soft and round, so like Moomin. 

She goes over to the counter and begins to brew a pot of coffee. The tea must not have been strong enough to deal with this matter. 

“Can you write more, dear?’ she asks while filling the kettle. Once she turns off the tap, she waits with ears pricked.

That’s something Snufkin thinks he’s not capable of, recalling the fiery feeling in his paws with a twinge. Even knocking seems to sap out a bit of life from him, he can’t keep it up. Reluctantly, he knocks twice, flinching at the sting that comes with it. He bites into his lower lip so hard that if he was in his own body, he would have definitely broken skin. 

She’s quiet about that, thinking, and in the silence Snufkin feels himself grow antsy to know where the Piru is. He stares out the window at the soft morning light and aches to feel it on his skin. This other world is so very cold. 

“I’m sorry,” Mamma calls out, softly, sadly. It’s so dreadfully genuine, warbling as if she could cry for him. 

“I wish there was more here,” she continues, looking down at the old book, ”We’ll figure it out though, dear. I’m sure we will.”

Even with the reassurance, the forlornness of it all rips his heart open and he feels like static. He sucks in a breath to ease himself but the tears come anyways, fat and heavy against his cheeks. He holds himself tightly as if it could keep him together. 

Mamma twitches her ears, soft and fluttering. Her face creases with sympathy. 

“Don’t cry, sweetie,” she says. Snufkin gasps and recoils. Had she heard him? It didn’t seem possible. But Mamma shakes her head slowly.

“Call it a mother’s intuition,” she answers, not even having known the question, “Sometimes, you can just sense those sorts of things.” 

And Snufkin, though his heart aches, is grateful. 

~~~

“Oh, Snufkin,” Moomin cries, voice cracking, “Oh, I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t know why he’s apologizing, perhaps just that he can’t think of anything else to say. More likely because he feels guilt climbing it’s way up his throat. It jabs at him as he leads Snufkin to the bathroom down the hall. 

Snufkin’s head rolls uselessly on his shoulders as if whatever holds it up has snapped. Moomin clenches and unclenches his jaw, trying to remain focused. Through his concern, he manages to feel sorry for himself as well, never being any good at behaving properly in the worst of situations. 

Little My titters on somewhere behind him and if he didn’t know her better, the things she was saying would be quite rude. He does know her enough, though, that he understands her chatter is her own way of worrying. 

He half-drags Snufkin over to the edge of the claw footed tub and feels very relieved when he manages to get him into a sort of sitting position. He rather looks like a sack of potatoes and Moomin frowns, putting his paw to Snufkin’s face to hold his head up. He is so icy cold to the touch, Moomin almost retracts his hand in alarm.

Their snouts are nearly touching, and in any other situation Moomin would have nearly lost his mind with their proximity. 

“Snufkin, please, can you look at me? Can you tell me what’s the matter?” he pleads gently. Snufkin’s face is stony and not at all with the usual warmth it holds. It was as if the color was sapped out of him. 

“I won’t…” the Mumrik says, eyes shut tightly. 

“You won’t what?  _ Please _ ,” Moomin isn’t past begging now, he just wants to know how he can help. He may very well be more worry than Moomintroll at this point. 

Then, with no warning, Snufkin is leaning in, closing the gap between them and Moomin yelps with the sudden closeness. He can feel the Mumrik’s breath on him, frigid as Midwinter snowfall. 

“I like you,” Snufkin says, ragged and flat. 

He blinks open his eyes and Moomin’s heart drops. It’s like the pieces of a puzzle click together in his mind. His friend, his  _ best _ friend, is gone. Looking into his eyes, Moomin sees nothing of what Snufkin is. They are cold and uncaring and hold none of that same warmth and depth. They are lifeless, sinister. And he knows, he just knows,

“ _ You aren’t Snufkin _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Elävä Maailma- Living World  
> Kiellettypaikka- Forbidden Place
> 
> Lore is mainly cherry picked from Finnish Paganism and Scandinavian Folklore.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think.


	3. The House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to lie, this chapter was hell to write. Enjoy!

“You aren’t Snufkin,” his voice trembles. Bile rises up his throat.

His fear quickly turns into disgust and he all but shoves Snufkin- no, this wasn’t his beloved friend- shoves the  _ creature _ who took him away. His feet fumble to stand up and Little My tilts her head to get a better look from where she leans in the doorway. The Piru wobbles precariously on the edge of the tub and his smile-  _ by the Booble’s tail! _ \- his wide, sharp smile takes on a new meaning.

“What have you done with him?” Moomin asks, spinning around as if Snufkin could possibly be in the room with them. The Piru’s smile turns mocking despite his weakened state. Moomin flares up, feeling fire burn ferociously in his gut. 

“What did you do to him!?” 

Now, he’s yelling, voice raw, fur fluffed up, and ears pinned back. He takes the demon by the shoulders roughly and shakes him. The Piru doesn’t fight him and when Moomin lets go with an angry growl, it simply falls back into the tub with a small thud. 

Moomin tugs at his ears painfully and he can see My is gaping at him like a codfish. This must be a very strange morning for her. 

He ushers her out and quickly closes the door behind them, leaving the demon trapped in the bathroom. Faster than he can think, he races to grab the house key and, with clumsy paws, he locks the door shut. 

Very winded, as he isn’t a creature known for his endurance, Moomintroll falls against the bathroom entrance. 

“What in the world are you doing? You’ve all gone properly mad now, eh?” Little My spits, exasperated and baffled. 

“That- that thing…” Moomin has to take a couple of shaky breaths before continuing, “that  _ thing  _ is  _ not  _ Snufkin.” 

The terrible situation catches up with him and he feels he’ll be ill.

“Oh no,” he moans, “this is all my fault. I should have known he was off! He wouldn’t be messing with his tail for no reason and he’d certainly never want to sleep with me!”

My gives him an incredulous look and he blushes at his words. 

“I wouldn’t say  _ that _ ,” she snickers, before returning to her default irritated look, “Pull yourself together, you twit. You may be an idiot but I’m sure you weren’t the one inviting Snufkin’s evil twin over for tea. You sure it isn’t him?”

Moomin frowns, not sure how to take that. Little My obviously doesn’t care that she may have offended him. She picks at her nails with narrowed eyes, waiting for an answer.

“I’m positive,” he says with a lump in his throat. He wishes he weren’t.

“Alright,” she nods. 

Moomin is a bit surprised she accepts it as easily as she does. He had expected at least a bit of a fight. Maybe he even wants one, just to get some of the irritating tension out from behind his eyes. But she seems almost compassionate. Another mystery added to the way Little My thinks.

“ _ Well _ , everything does always seem to work itself out rather nicely where you’re involved so maybe you should try and do something about it? I’m sure you can cook something up in that ball of fur and Snufkin will be back to normal in no time.” 

Moomin blinks back surprise. That must have been My’s version of a genuine compliment. He finds himself grateful even if it isn’t any help to him.

“Thank you,” the corners of his mouth lift and he allows himself to be dead chuffed for a small moment. 

“Yeah, yeah,” she wrinkles her nose, “don’t say I’ve never said anything nice-” she stops to make a show of retching, “about you.”

“Oh, I’ll make a point of not telling anyone. Could ruin that reputation you have, you know?”

She smirks at him proudly and is about to quip back when Mamma rushes into the room. 

She’s in quite a tizzy and has her grandmother’s book held open against her chest. 

“Where’s Snufkin?” she asks, eyes darting around the room in search of the Mumrik. 

“He’s in the bathroom, but Mamma-” he’s about the warn her, about to tell her not to open the door, but reels when she drags a chair under the knob to bar it further. 

“Oh dear,” she huffs, “oh, I don’t know how to explain this, but-”

“That isn’t Snufkin,” Moomin finishes for her. 

She gazes with wide, morose eyes back at her son.

“How did you know?”

“I know my  _ best friend _ ,” Moomin says a little too sharply. 

He hates the pitying look his mother gives him. Then, she’s shoving the book his direction. His great grandmother’s book. His eyes study the page briefly, taking the information in with a thrumming head. He was right, not that he had been unsure, but this proving it just made him all the more confident in himself. 

“But how-” Moomin can’t bring himself to finish. How could his Mamma know? The thought makes him itch with anger, so much so that he startles himself. But it is all so unfair, he knows Snufkin so much better than anyone else so why did she figure it out before him? 

“He wrote this,” Mamma explains calmly, holding up the paper which Snufkin had scrawled on.

Another jealous pang runs through Moomin’s chest but it’s muffled by his joy that Snufkin is alright and able to write. 

“He’s here!? Can he hear me?” Moomin cries, “Snufkin! Snufkin!” 

His mother sets a delicate paw on top of his own.

“I think- I think it’s difficult for him, dear,” she comforts with a loving stroke, brushing back the fur on the backs of his hands.

It is hard for him to take that, though he can see how Snufkin’s writing wobbles so unlike any of his letters. He looks down at his paws, trying to reason with himself that Mamma knowing where Snufkin is should be just as good as himself or anyone else knowing. 

He squeezes his eyes shut and grits his teeth, duly noting that his mother has moved her paw to his shoulder. Except her hand isn’t quite as soft and warm. In fact, it’s so cold it burns and it buzzes against him like hornets’ wings. He whips around, feeling for the offending grip, but Mamma isn’t even looking at him anymore. 

Moomin’s touch lingers on his shoulder and he gasps in realization. 

“Oh, Snufkin,” he reaches his hands out to the air in front of him, as if he is holding him and hopes that perhaps Snufkin is doing the same, wherever he may be. 

“So, is there anything in that old book that says how we can get him back?” My asks, pulling Moomin from his trance. She is furrowing her brow in a way that Moomin could only assume is concern and peeks her bobbly little head up to see the page herself.

“Unfortunately not,” Mamma says flatly.

“Well, we need to do something!” Moomin shouts, pressing his luck on his mother’s tolerance. It feels an awful lot like someone had ripped up his guts out, tied them in knots, and shoved them back in. What’s worse is that he doesn’t know why. It all feels urgent and he can’t find a reason to it other than he wants his friend back, especially knowing how  _ close _ he is.

He hops from foot to foot, busying the agitation in his toes.

“Sit still, your fidgeting is giving me a headache,” My chastises, regaining her angry demeanour. 

Moomin very nearly forgets to hold his tongue against her petulance but a knock at the door makes them all jump and Little My scrambles to open it. 

“Hullo, Moominfamily. Pardon my intrusion, I came tae check if ye was needin’ the bathhouse soon. Th’ shrews ar- oh my, am I interruptin’ somethin’?”

Too-Ticky’s wide eyes flick between the trio, appraising the situation and Moomin realizes everyone must look a bit frantic, all crowding around the book like they were. Not to mention the bathroom door being blocked off by a chair.

“Actually, this is perfect timing, dear, perhaps you can help us,” Moominmamma suddenly decides upon asking, “You know quite a bit about magic, don’t you, Too-Ticky?”

Too-Ticky wastes no time in flattery, waving her paws out in front of her.

“I know a wee bit, ma’am, not quite an expert,” yet she reconsiders and adds, “But I can try mah best tae help ye if ye let me in on th’ problem.”

Mamma offers her the book to inspect and immediately upon seeing it Too-Ticky lets out a tiny gasp. Still, she politely skims the writing before handing it back. 

“Where exactly did ye come upon a troublemaker like tha’?” she asks, blue eyes icy with concern. 

Moomin worries at his lip. Where did Snufkin find the demon? He tries to think back but nothing adds up in his mind, making him more frustrated. 

Mamma and Little My stare at him expectantly, as if he’s supposed to know such a thing. He was so caught up in his own feelings that now he has trouble remembering what they had done only yesterday. He reaches around to tug at his tail, which lashes annoyingly against his leg. As he pulls out a loose bit of fur that had fallen out in his distress, it suddenly dawns on him.

Ever since they had gone on the journey to the haunted house, Snufkin had been acting weird. It had started when he noticed him pulling on his tail on the walk back home. 

Moomin feels sick considering it, terrified that his memory may be faulty. Yet, it’s a lead, a start to go off of, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to grasp it with every fibre of his being. 

“The house we went to yesterday,” Moomin chokes, “It took Snufkin then. It must have.”

Too-Ticky puckers her lips, digesting the new information with ease. 

“I see. Ye said th’ lad was taken, in what way?” she mulls, too slow for Moomin’s tastes. 

“It- it went in his body! Urgh, that sounded stupid- It took him over!” he struggles against his words, searching for something that makes sense.

“Possession,” Too-Ticky says for him, leaving him feeling all the more dumb for it. 

Again, she pauses to think and can’t she see how Moomin could burst from not knowing. 

“Aye,” she finally says,”Fraid I can’t help much. The spirit realm is a tricky place. However, I’d start back at tha’ house a’ yers.”

Moomin immediately begins retracing his steps in his head, trying to think of the quickest way to get to the abandoned structure. 

Too-Ticky isn’t finished though, and her brow creases as she continues. 

“The Piru latched on yer beau because it found something it could wreak its havoc on. Sappin’ the poor boy’s energy right outta ‘is body. ‘Is spirit won’t last long separated from its form.”

Silence follows as Moomin gulps down his growing dread. 

“I would go wit ye but I’d be a burden. My paws aren’t made fer fast movin’.”

She shuffles awkwardly and it takes Moomin a moment to realize he needs to get going. Then all at once to floodgates open and he’s nearly throwing the chair off the door, Little My hot on his heels. 

“Watch it!” she shouts behind him as the chair almost tips over onto her. 

“You heard what Too-Ticky said! That thing is hurting him! He won’t- won’t-”

Moomin looks to Too-Ticky again helplessly and she shakes her head.

“I don’t know.”

The troll nods back to her in understanding and turns the key still stuck in the lock. He opens the door slowly, fearful of what he might see on the other side. 

He’s pleased that the Piru is still underwhelmingly slouched in the tub. Snufkin’s face looks even more gaunt and sickly. 

A shiver crawls up Moomin’s spine. He’d never seen him look so exceedingly awful. He  _ looks  _ like he is dying. Moomin numbly stands at the edge of the tub and pulls Snufkin’s body over his shoulder. He is so shockingly light and cold he worries he’ll break in half like an icicle. 

Upon being slung over Moomin’s shoulder, the Piru offers some protest, dry heaving with every grunt it gives. 

“We are going back to that house and getting Snufkin back!” Moomin hisses angrily, finally speaking up. 

The Piru just chuckles darkly, sending itself into a series of jolting spasms. 

~~~

Snufkin watches with bated breath, holding on to the hope that Moomin will be able to help him. He shakes against the violent urge to do something, anything. 

Hatred fills him and makes him feel stupid for being so reliant. He flicks between emotions so fast it makes him dizzy and tries to focus on what is going on to get it to stop. 

Moomin carries the Piru as it flops about like a fish and Little My walks sullenly, taking up the rear with a thick stick held at the ready like a police officer’s baton. 

The troll mutters to himself, saying things much too rude for Snufkin’s liking, though he can’t really blame him for doing so. It’s an unfair situation as it is. 

The journey is a lot shorter this time since there is less meandering and chatting and stopping for breaks. But the quiet makes it feel so much more drawn out. Snufkin wishes he didn’t have to see his own bedraggled body anytime he looks at Moomin. He settles for peeking down at Little My, who marches on with a fierce look of determination. She looks more explosive than usual, which is almost as sweet as it is dangerous. 

Not even a full hour passes before they are once again standing in the shadow of the decrepit structure and Moomin wastes no time in entering the house, so forcefully it breaks off the door handle. The rusted knob falls to the ground with a heavy clank. 

“How do we get him back?” Moomin snarls to his shoulder. 

The Piru doesn’t answer, its body limp and eyes wide and staring straight at Snufkin. It is horribly disconcerting to the Mumrik. 

Its gaze stays on Snufkin as Moomin walks further into the house. The troll lobs the body on the chaise lounge, ordering Little My to “watch it” as he explores.

Moomin, for all he would be lamenting, wishes that he had brought Sniff along. At the least, he knows he has to look in the lower level as no one had followed him upstairs the day before. Snufkin watches despairingly, trying to stick close by, but Moomin keeps wandering the sitting room in a circle and he finds himself increasingly annoyed. The pocket door is right within view, big and wooden and it’s not Moomin’s fault he can’t tell it’s something to open but Snufkin fears his end will come with his salvation right beyond its threshold. Of course, he could go through it, but there’s not much of a point without the Piru being there as well. 

Finally, having enough of it, he bangs against the door frame, immediately shaking off the lancing pain it sends through his paws. The Piru throws itself into a fit of maniacal laughter as Snufkin regards how transparent he is with ever growing dismay. Moomin looks up from the coffee table book, regarding the door for the first time. 

He doesn’t comment on it as he tries to get it open, knowing Snufkin made the noise and not wanting to say anything that might make the Mumrik think he’d need to respond. The door squeals deafeningly loud against its tracks as Moomin forces it open with a great heave. 

The room has changed shape, the platters are gone and it’s so much smaller than before. Cramped. What you would expect based on the outside of the house, making Snufkin feel strikingly stupid for not sensing something was off before. 

Well, he had had a bad feeling, just not about the room in particular, and he hadn’t trusted his gut anyway. 

The only things remaining are the table, now with far fewer chairs lining it, and the mirror. As he turns around, he realizes there is another mirror on the opposite side that he hadn’t noticed before. 

It catches his attention, two of the same mirror in the same room, reflecting one another. He trods over to the one closest to him, ignoring Moomin, who searches the chairs and the floorboards like a wild beast. 

The glass is clean and clear, just like the plates had been. Snufkin questions his sanity as he raises a paw to touch the reflection. He pauses, heartbeat thrumming wildly in his chest, and make contact. It is firm against his touch, offering resistance and fogging up quickly where his paw rests. If he looks close enough he swears he can now see his own reflection. 

It makes his head reel, realizing he was tricked so easily and he turns to see the Piru watching his every move from the other room. 

“Mirrors?” he asks the demon.

“If it isn’t broke, don’t fix it,” it responds gruffly. 

Moomin turns to try and see what the Piru is saying, but it’s stalking toward him on loose stupid legs. Little My grabs at its smock, but it somehow overpowers her. 

Moomin sees it as it really is, a disgusting fleshy puppet version of his friend. His friend he loves and cherishes and needs. 

“Let me help you,” it hisses, all well My shrieks at it to stop whatever it thinks it’s doing.

Moomin watches it, confused, as it staggers on noodly legs toward the wall. He understands what it’s after just too late, jolting forward just as the little round mirror hits the ground, smashing into tiny shards. 

The Piru collapses, having finished its task, revelling in some sort of victory. Moomin feels sick all over again but this time it’s too much for him to hold, and he falls down, letting out a blood-curdling scream. He grabs at the shattered pieces in a frenzy, pushing them together like they’ll magically fix themselves. Every feeling comes gushing from him at once, the anger, the guilt, sadness, and rotting, reeking despair. He doesn’t know, truly he wasn’t ever that smart or worldly to know how the mirror could get Snufkin back, but he knows it could have. And now his hope is shattered in a million pieces, scattered on the floor amidst the sharp glass and he’s trying to pick it back it but every pawful is so painful he vision flashes white with hot, hot pain. 

“You,” he rounds on the Piru, dragging it up by the collar, “You murderer.”

He sobbing and spitting in the demon’s face but it does nothing for him. The Piru doesn’t react and it makes him all the more infuriated that he drags it with him, across the lower floor. He’s purposely harsh with it, manhandling it up the stairs, even despite Little My’s begging to “Please stop!” She sounds in hysterics herself, something Moomin would feel terrible about, had he not been so far past the capability of rational thought. 

“You’re not the only one who is losing him! He’s my baby brother, too!” she cries, completely unlike herself. Her weeping falls on deaf ears as Moomin yanks the Piru from room to room in search of anything else the house could provide. The top floor is barren and Moomin slams shut each door louder and louder. Finally, finding the last room empty, he sits on the floor, letting go of the wretched demon to truly mourn. The Piru looks gaunt and ugly. It’s sapped the life out of Snufkin. Moomin fears there might be nothing left of him soon, he’d be forced to die here in a horrible old awful house. One that Moomin had led them to, had opened the door and let them in. He curls up on himself, wishing he could rip off his ears in anguish.

He’ll never get the chance to go on another adventure, to see his smile or smell his scent. He’ll never be able to wait on the bridge for him or tell him how much he loves his music, his laugh, his everything. 

His stomach lurches thinking about how he’ll have to go back, see Snufkin’s tent and take it down and explain to his Mamma and Pappa how he’d failed, how nothing was going to be alright ever again, and he’ll be told to forget. Forget his best friend. That was the worst part of it all. How could he possibly do that?

“Moomin,” the Piru suddenly calls. 

The troll doesn’t speak but Snufkin watches his tail flick in agitation. 

“You don’t have to do this,” it tells him and Moomin’s ears twitch. 

“I know what you want- “

He balls his fists, fingers curling over his ears. Snufkin watches in disdain.

“We could go back and I’ll stay with you forever. I’ll love you,” the demon grins horrifically, crawling over disjointedly to brush against Moomin’s ear with his sharp teeth. 

“No!” Moomin finally shouts, all his force in the single word. 

Snufkin feels a wrench in his heart. 

“You will never be Snufkin!” he screeches, bolting up, “I love him for who he is. All you’re doing is killing him!”

Moomin grips the Piru by the shoulders, grappling with him desperately. 

“Tell me how to get him back! Tell me!” he shouts into the demon's face, throat straining with effort. 

“How does it feel to fail him?” it hisses.

It bounds up with a sudden bout of strength and pushes Moomin backwards. Caught off guard, Moomin stumbles against the Piru’s weight. Snufkin twitches uncomfortably as the two fight against each other. He can tell Moomin is trying not to hurt the Piru anymore, but the demon does not repay the same courtesy, slashing wildly with its claws. With each scratch, they draw closer to the upper floor’s broken out window. The glass glints menacingly in the afternoon sun. 

“Why are you doing this?” Moomin cries, pushing the Piru’s face away from him. 

“Does there have to be a reason?” it growls back.

They hit the window sill with a thud, both still pushing and pulling against their fur. Snufkin watches in horror as Moomin tips out the side of the house, dragging the Piru with him. It’s all he can think to do to grab him. Flames tear his skin apart as he yanks Moomin to safety while his body falls helplessly out the window. When he retracts back, he can no longer see his paws. He races to look out, watching his broken remains hit the ground with the sickening sound of cracking bones. 

Then there is a tugging in his gut and blinding white light fills his vision. He fears- oh does he fear with everything he has- that he’s dying. He used his energy and he would never get to say goodbye to his friends. He would never get to tell Moomin how much he cared. How much he loved him just as much as he had just screamed at the top of his lungs. And then there was nothing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a note, I couldn't get this chapter to sound right. Some of the scenes I had written before the rest of the story and now I feel they are lacking. The original premise had much more to do with mirror lore and had been a whole lot darker so hopefully this isn't too much of a tone shift.  
> We are one chapter away from the thrilling conclusion and I have so many other stories that are coming up that I'm excited to share with you guys. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> feralbasilthief.tumblr.com


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